


The Grind House

by SHERjohnLOCK



Series: Coffee Shop [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Anal Sex, Bottom John, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreshadowing, Gay Sex, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Smut, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Top Sherlock, blowjob, coffee shop AU, it's gonna be smutty af i swear, toplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHERjohnLOCK/pseuds/SHERjohnLOCK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson works at the Grind House, a lovely little coffee shop in central London. Learning to make new drinks and keeping up lively conversation with customers, John quickly adapts to the environment, until one customer changes his fate forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I always dedicate my work to my girlfriend Nicole. She's so beautiful and I am extremely lucky to have her. I hope you enjoy this, love.

Grind House wasn't the best coffee shop in London, but it was a lovely place to enjoy different blends of coffee beans and some good company. The shop could use a bit of spring cleaning and decluttering, but the staff didn't mind it too much. It was a rather cozy environment.

John Watson, the oldest barista of the crew, was new at the Grind House. He had just returned from the Army as a doctor, trying to scrap up any income he can by working. After all, he can't afford a flat in London on just an Army pension, and he's given up on trying to find a flatmate. Who would want him for a flatmate, anyways?

* * *

Things changed at the Grind House after some time. As John began to adapt more to the workplace, he became more comfortable conversing with the new customers that would come in. Most of the times he'd have a small chat with a stranger over their choice of espresso. Spurting out some clever remark about the differing types of coffee beans would often be returned by a strange look, which John would quickly brush aside. He liked coffee; simple, yet intricate. He didn't mind the odd faces when his words started bubbling over each other with random facts. All that mattered was that his job made him happy. New day, new friends, new conversations.

* * *

One day when service was slow, John decided to clean up some of the machines he'd been neglecting. Rather mundane, you'd suppose; and it was. At least, that was until a tall, dark-haired man decided the Grind House was the best place for a nice cuppa, and a quiet place to sit. Little did John know, this man wasn't just _any_ stranger.

The bell on the door rang, breaking John's daze and alerting him to the presence of the unknown man at the entrance.

"Afternoon! How are we today?" John sprang up to attention. 

When John Watson caught sight of the man at the door, he froze. Never had he seen such a mesmerizing figure before him.

Tall,  _oh yes,_ dark hair. Curly, very curly, and it swept just a bit over his eyes. John thought of how annoyed he'd be if his hair was in his eyes. (He was used to a short buzz cut, as the Army had required.) John noticed he shape of the man's face was chiseled, his skin milky and attaining a soft appearance. Long, thin eyelashes skimmed the top of his rosy cheeks. And his body,  _fuck._ The stranger's physique was slender but lean. John could see just the hint of muscle being outlined in the silky plum shirt.

"Um," the stranger finally spoke, breaking John out of his trance. John blushed slightly, becoming embarrassed as time goes on, realizing his jaw was hanging and his gaze completely focused on this  _gorgeous_  man.

"Oh, god. Sorry, I didn't mean-"

The man chuckled, "It's fine."

John let out a sigh of relief and asked, "So, what can I get for you today?" 

"Latte, please." The man nodded downwards, which John took as a sign that his order was complete. 

"Sure," John replies hastily. "You can take a seat wherever is most comfortable. I'll bring it to you once I make it."

 The handsome customer hesitates, as if he were about to ask something else of John, but quickly dismissed it. He took a seat which was close to the counter. John noticed and grinned to himself, hopefully he could strike a nice conversation with this man.

 _So bloody gorgeous,_ after all. It's worth a shot.

John finished the espresso, looking down at it to realize it was one of the best he's ever made. He used the foam to create a pattern on top of the liquid, which turned out to resemble a fern. It was a task he taught himself over the time he's spent learning at his new job. He sincerely hoped his customer would enjoy it.

John walked over to the small table where the man sat and set the cup of espresso in the middle.

"Thank you," the man acknowledges the espresso, taking a moment to appreciate the intricate display that John had worked on so desperately as a means on impressing the man. 'Lovely," he states with a half smile.  

"John, John Watson," he introduces himself.

The man's eyebrows lift ever so slightly, perhaps John would've missed it if he happened to blink. 

"Sherlock," the man returns.

John smiles, turning his back to continue cleaning some of the machines, but a strong grasp on his arm attempts to stop him. 

"Sit," Sherlock asks, as he gestures towards the chair in front of him, "Please."

John is confused, but obliges the request anyways. His pulse picks up speed as he straightens his apron before sitting down. John looks up to see Sherlock scrutinizing every bit of his body, eyes darting all over as if searching for something. Finally, Sherlock stops and focuses on John's gaze. He squints his eyes just a tad and questions, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

_What? How could he possibly know that?_

"Afghanistan...sorry, how did you-"

"Haircut, posture, tone of voice: it all reads military service. And that injury," Sherlock points towards John's left shoulder. "Occurred in battle, obviously." 

 _"Obviously?_ This is absurd. How could you possibly know all of that?"

"Quite simple actually, I won't bore you with the whole explanation, but I will inform you of my current occupation which may lead to all of these statements about your personal life seem a bit reasonable of me to make. I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock boasts with a flicker of pride consuming his entire form. 

John snickers "Consulting detective, what's that entail then?" 

 

* * *

 

John and Sherlock sat at the small wooden table in the Grind House for a little over an hour, talking about Sherlock's occupation and John's past in the Army. They learned more about each other in that short period of time than anyone has, and they were both okay with that. Sherlock usually doesn't let people in to his sharp mind, but this time he allowed it. For he knew what John Watson was like, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

My, Sherlock believed John to be the most attractive man whom he'd been given the pleasure to encounter in  _months._ After all, he was intelligent, had a well-built physique, and the most handsome appearance. Throughout their conversation, Sherlock often drifted off, imagining the scenario of fucking John up against the brick wall in the back alley. Lean bodies pressed up against each other, skin to skin, hot kisses being exchanged in a desperate attempt to achieve satisfaction.  _Jesus,_ the thought was mind-blowing. Maybe someone would walk by and catch them, Sherlock with his cock up John's pretty little ass. 

These thoughts surprised Sherlock, as he did not have such envisions as these very often. But he could not hide it from himself, he was very sexually attracted to John.

 

* * *

 

 

John finally gathers the courage to ask the question he had been _dying_ to know the answer to. "So, do you have a...eh...girlfriend, then?" He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and was embarrassed when he could feel the cold stare of Sherlock's eyes on them.

Seconds pass before Sherlock answers, and these seconds felt like fucking months to John. "Girlfriend? No, not really my area." 

Never in John's life has he felt such a rush of relief all at once. Maybe, just maybe, a relationship between him and Sherlock would come to life.

"Boyfriend?" John asks, just to make sure.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, "No," and John immediately fires back with, "Good." 

"When do you get off work?" Sherlock asks with a cheeky smirk, which can only mean one thing.

 


	2. Back Alley Passions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting into the good smut. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It was approximately 9 PM when John got out of work, and the bitter air of the night was enough to make anyone stray inside their warm home. Although Sherlock and John had just met only a couple hours ago, there was a clear connection. In fact, it surprised both men when they realized how much they had in common. This fact, of course, was hindered a bit when Sherlock proclaimed his passion for scientific experiments that often involved the use of dead body parts. 

* * *

" _Fuck,_ Sherlock," John moaned. The detective had John pressed up against the brick wall in the back alley of the Grind House, right next to the main street. Sherlock had his cock shoved up John's muscular, perfect arse, fucking him into oblivion. The silence of the city was interrupted by their sobs.

While desperately thrusting into John, Sherlock lowered his head and pressed his lips to the shorter man's neck, kissing and biting him all over the area. He was determined to leave his mark on John, so that everyone would know he was claimed. He relentlessly licked and sucked on the sweet spots of John's neck until the skin was bright red with hickies and teeth marks. Sherlock hummed in appreciation when he noticed how well he had marked him. He might as well hung a " **Sherlock Was Here!"** sign around John. This thought intrigued him greatly.  _Noted,_ he thought.

"Christ, Sherlock, you're fucking perfect," John exclaimed. Both could tell he was on the verge of orgasm, although John's own erection was neglected. He begged for Sherlock to touch him. Sherlock read him like a book and spoke in desperation, "Tell me what you want, John."

"Please, touch me, Sherlock. I need it,  _please."_

And that was all the detective needed to hear. While Sherlock was fucking John, he managed to take John's rock hard erection in his hand, giving it long and full strokes. "Like that?" Sherlock growled into John's ear, making the barista squirm and cry out beneath him. John moaned something incomprehensible, which only made Sherlock go faster, deeper, harder.

They were both so impatient, shagging each other in the back alley like goddamn animals.

"Keep going,  _oh my god, yes,_ that's it, I'm gonna-oh  **fuck!"**  With those filthy words pouring out of John's mouth, it only took Sherlock a couple more thrusts until together they came completely undone.

Sherlock was practically weeping as he came all over inside John, filling him up. John embarrassingly came all over the wall he was pushed against.

The two men stood there, exhausted and unsteady. Sherlock leaned on John, focusing his weight so as not to fall down. His legs were extremely weak, as if he had just ran a marathon. Licking the shell of John's ear, Sherlock whispered encouragements in his ear. 

_So fucking good. So good for me, John._

John practically purred at this.

"Tired," John sighed, and in return he felt the detective nod. Sherlock removed himself from John and pulled his pants up, buckling his belt together. Before John brought his pants back up, Sherlock gave a hard slap to John's ass, leaving a pink hand print. " _Mine_."

They stood there hunched on the wall when Sherlock decided he had to have John. That this was not enough for him, no, he could fuck John all he wanted in the back alley of the Grind House. But, this wasn't enough to satisfy his thirst for John Watson. He wanted him wholly, completely for himself. With thoughts scrambling about in his head, he uttered, "221B Baker Street."

"Sorry?"

"The address of my flat."

"I don't follow, Sherlock."

_Not surprising._

"Stay with me tonight," Sherlock pleaded. He really meant for John to stay with him forever, he fiercely wanted that, but _tonight_ seemed more appropriate. For now, at least.

John hesitated. After all, he had only just met Sherlock. There were a lot of things to consider, but only one question sauntered through John's thoughts:  _What could possibly go wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this: I love you. Reread the last sentence of this chapter. I have one word for you: foreshadowing.


	3. New Beginning

John wasn't one to over-clean in his flat, but he did pick up a dusting cloth every now and then. For Sherlock, it must have been a different story. The small living space was cluttered by rather unnecessary things, small doo-dads covered every inch of furniture. Beautiful shelves stuffed with old books lined almost every wall in the apartment. The taupe-stained wooden floors of the area were scuffed up with shoe marks, showing just how used it was. As John stood there quickly scanning the place Sherlock calls home, he realized that, although it could use some tidying up, the apartment itself definitely fit with Sherlock's personality. It could use a little shaping up, that's for sure, but it was fine-tuned to conform with his harsh toils.

John could not help but show a smile, for this is exactly what he expected.

* * *

"You can stay in here with me tonight," Sherlock encouraged, gesturing towards his bedroom. "The bed is rather big, so you won't be uncomfortable."

There was no way in hell John was going to turn down an invitation to sleep next to Sherlock. Was he mad? They just fucked each other, and sleeping on the couch was an  _option._  John wanted to laugh, but hadn't an intention of hurting Sherlock's feelings and making the couch-bed a real possibility.

John sauntered over towards the bedroom door and leaned against the entrance. Turning back, he winked at Sherlock and proceeded to take off his clothes.

* * *

 

**1:54 AM**

 

Sherlock bitterly awoke from a restless sleep, only to remember the Adventures of Last Night. He turned over and watched the beautiful man next to him sleep. His breathing was so calm, so tranquil that Sherlock could not think of a scenario in which he dare disturb John of this soothing slumber. John's blonde eyelashes fluttered ever-so lightly with every deep breath he took. This was a pure moment of innocence, one which Sherlock would not take advantage. 

He leaned over, demanding his movements not to wake John, and pressed his lips to the sleeping man's forehead. 

This was such a strange scenario to be occurring. Only hours before had they engaged in vigorous sex, and now Sherlock could not imagine waking up to anyone besides John. To go from such an exasperating release of passion to a tender embrace was oddly calming. 

He wanted to be with John-god, yes. He could not imagine, not even  _think_ , of the idea where him and John are not together. He felt right when he was with John, he felt strong, like all things were possible. 

Sherlock had not encountered anyone like this before, had not experienced such an outpouring of emotion.

_Christ, Sherlock. Get a fucking grip._

Perhaps it was the fact that it was nearly 2 AM and Sherlock hardly gets the amount of sleep needed. Perhaps it was the espresso causing his mind to over-function. However, he simply didn't care what it was. These feelings, these thoughts, felt true. 

Sherlock knew he had to be careful, though. Nevertheless, he did not want to ruin the first "relationship" that meant something to him. It was more than a quick shag, it was more than a one-night stand. 

It was the beginning of a new chapter in Sherlock's life, and he was ready to turn the page.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too bad, huh? Please leave kudos and comments. <3


	4. The Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! It's a short chapter, but I promise I'll be updating sooner and more frequently. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes was not the type of man to be prone to emotional outbursts.

In fact, he was quite the opposite of such. Although, that soon changed once the detective united with John Watson. The once "platonic" relationship between the two did not change as one would expect.

They still went on their merry way, desperate for the most captivating of cases and such. Murderers, psychopaths, etc., were the key component in their lives. Constantly running about the streets at all times of day, hand-in-hand with each other, backs against the wind.

There was nothing better to Sherlock and John than the cool air rushing past their face as they began the chase. However, there were some significant points which were included upon the finalization of their new found relationship. This included the first, and most important, change to both of them: actual romantic dates.

Whether it was dinner and a show, or John showing up at a murder scene with flowers as a surprise for Sherlock, romance was certainly a vital part to their blooming relationship.

The detective had never been treated with such care and love than when he was with John Watson, the army doctor who would take on the world if it meant securing Sherlock's happiness.

* * *

 

John awoke in a panic with sweat beads dotting his forehead. Another night terror, he thought. Apparently it was enough of a rumble to shake Sherlock to consciousness, as the detective shot up and placed his hand on John's arm. " _John."_ It was that kind of  _John_ that made John's bones ache. Sherlock's widened eyes and unsteady hands were enough for John to forget, just for that moment, that he was scared. He took Sherlock's hand in his own and pressed it against his lips and whispers, "Sorry."

Although John had such issues nearly every night, Sherlock hadn't gotten used to it yet. After John calmed down, along with Sherlock, they remained atop the bed, holding each other tightly. To Sherlock, there was nothing more delightful than holding onto the man he loved so deep and fiercely.. To hear John inhale and exhale, to see the rise and fall of his chest with every deep breath was enough to put Sherlock's mind to rest.

He realized that John changed him, made him human. Sherlock decided he was okay with this. Nothing else mattered, nothing else needed Sherlock's attention but the blonde army doctor that changed his entire world.


	5. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flat, the man, and the promise of adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize from the bottom of my heart that I have such a long hiatus between chapters, but I promise I will try to update this more often. To all of you reading my stories, I applaud you for reaching it this far. Thank you very much for all of your kind words to me, it helps me considerably to hear such sweet compliments about my works. Thank you again, I hope you enjoyed!

SHERLOCK

 

Sherlock woke to an empty apartment with the light illuminating the dust floating all around him. The windows shone the most ethereal light and he was filled with a sense of mystery. He hardly ever thinks about his life as a whole; in fact, Sherlock lives each day as it is, blank as the paper before the poem. The bed sheets were a bundled mess and the comforter was on the floor. Sherlock sat up and poised himself on the edge of the bed. He ran his slender fingers through his dark curls and noticed he was completely naked besides his satin boxer shorts. He hadn't a memory of the latter night, but remembered John and only John. Before Sherlock knew it, he was lost in the thought of that man with ashen blonde hair and wrinkles near his eyes that could only show his age. There was something so beautiful about those wrinkles that made John so alive, so real in the mind of Sherlock.  _  
_

_Monday, October 2nd_.  _Autumn._ These were the thoughts that ran through Sherlock's brain before he remembered that, unfortunately, John was away at work. _Another day at the Grind,_ he thought. It was so disgusting to Sherlock that a man as brilliant as John Hamish Watson could even ponder the idea of working at such a mind-numbing, run of the mill job and be  _happy._  Sherlock only knew of the work that involved crime; it was the only thing that mattered. Well, that and John. Sherlock smiled, he was content knowing that he had this newly found perception of love and all that connects. He wanted the longest life with him, the man who was Sherlock's moon and sun and stars. 

He stood and shuffled across the room to locate his most favorite dressing robe, the one that is silk like a spider web and as deep purple as the galaxies above his roof. It cascaded over his milky white skin and sat ever so lightly upon his thin body. Sherlock wandered around the flat without a care, twirling and sauntering with a slight skip in every step he took. With a jam buttered piece of toast in one hand and phone in the other, his day had finally begun. There was almost a musical tone to each time his foot hit the floor and his hands would dance across every furniture piece placed so carefully around the disheveled home. 

The beauty of Sherlock's home was considerably under-appreciated. Although papers were disordered and at least an inch of dust covered the wooden surfaces, besides the pillows that had not been fluffed in months and the curtains that haven't been touched since the flat was rented out, the strong elegance and angelic features of this place lingered in the morning. It was alive with wonder and life, kept alive by the two men who liked tea and each other. 

The flat was filled with the empyrean sound of Sherlock's violin, the steaming chime coming from the pot of tea on the stove, and the ecstatic feeling of hope that this day, another day, would be another tremendous adventure.

 


End file.
